


Plan B

by Spikedluv



Series: Dec 2018 Gift Fic [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cameo by Darcy Lewis, M/M, Olympics!Clint, Pre-Slash, Tease of background Darcy/Jane, cameo by Jane Foster, cameo by Natasha Romanoff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Clint Barton, formerly an Olympic star before a career-ending injury, currently owner of Hawkey Fitness, is approached by Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD with a proposition.  Not that kind!  Get your head out of the gutter.  (But yes, also that kind.)  Additionally, Natasha spies and Darcy plays matchmaker.





	Plan B

**Author's Note:**

  * For [admiralandrea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiralandrea/gifts).



> It's Christmas in July! This story is one of my December Gift Fic and was written for Admiralandrea for the prompt _MCU, Clint/Coulson, Clint teaches Phil self-defense_. I played a bit fast and loose with the ‘teaching’ bit. I hope you enjoy it anyway. *g*
> 
> I’m also using this to fill the _Matchmaker_ square on my card for Round 13 of [Trope Bingo on DW](http://trope_bingo.dreamwidth.org).
> 
> Written: July 13, 2019

Clint was in the middle of a kick-boxing class when the good looking guy in a suit walked into Hawkeye Fitness. He stopped at the front desk to speak with Darcy, but Clint could feel the other man’s gaze from across the large open space. Clint pushed it to the back of his mind as he’d done with any distraction when he’d been competing and continued the class.

The man was still there when Clint’s class ended. Clint said goodbye to his students and glanced at Darcy, who waggled her eyebrows suggestively. It was times like this that Clint was sorry he’d ever told Darcy he had a thing for guys a few years older than him.

Clint crossed the room to the man, who stood with his arms behind his back as he watched with bland interest the Zumba class that Jane was teaching. Clint stopped beside the man and watched the class through the plexiglass window for a few moments as the music thumped beneath his feet.

“You interested in signing up for a class?” Clint said.

The man turned to look directly at Clint, who felt as if he was being measured, though nothing showed on the man’s face. “Yes,” he said. “But not this.” He gestured with one hand towards the Zumba class, then extended it to Clint. “Phil Coulson.”

Clint took Phil’s hand. “Clint Barton.” Clint felt a tingle, but didn’t jerk his hand out of Phil’s grip because he didn’t want to make a big deal out of what was probably just a little electric shock. “If not Zumba, what are you interested in, Phil?”

Clint thought he saw a pink tinge color Phil’s throat, but Phil’s expression didn’t change.

“I wanted to hire you for a one-on-one self-defense lesson,” Phil said.

Now Clint knew why Darcy had given him that look. “I can do that. There’s some paperwork . . .”

“I’ve already filled it out,” Phil said.

Clint glanced towards the front desk and Darcy gave him a thumbs-up. “Then let’s take a look at my schedule and you can tell me when you’d like to get started.”

“At your first availability,” Phil said. “Today, if possible.”

The request didn’t raise any suspicions. In Clint’s experience, many people who made the decision to get fit wanted to begin right away, before they changed their mind. Clint mentally ran through his schedule for the afternoon. He had a break now, but he normally used that time to catch up on paperwork.

Still, Clint didn’t like to turn away a potential client (and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was just Clint’s type, so shut up, Darcy), so he said, “How does right now work? I have some time before my next class.”

“Now would be great,” Phil said, sounding unsurprised that Clint had a free slot.

“Okay.” Clint let his gaze move over Phil (in a totally professional capacity). “Do you need to get your gym bag?”

“No.”

Clint waited a beat, but that was all Phil said. “You don’t have a change of clothes?”

“No.”

“You want to do this in your suit?”

“I’ll remove my jacket,” Phil said with equanimity.

The thought of Phil removing his suit jacket did more to Clint than it should have. “Okay,” he said. “This way.”

Clint did not glance Darcy’s way as he led Phil to the smaller studio he used for one-on-one instruction. All of the studio rooms had a window that looked onto the reception and weight area, so they weren’t completely private. Then again, that was the point. Clint didn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable at being closed in a room with a stranger.

Clint tried not to stare as Phil removed his suit jacket and carefully folded it over the back of a chair. He did stare when Phil rolled up his cuffs to reveal well-shaped forearms. They both removed their shoes before stepping onto the mat.

“This class will just be an introduction to self-defense,” Clint said, then explained to Phil that aiming for the soft spots of the body – eyes, nose, ears, jaw, throat, groin, knees, and Achilles tendon – was at the heart of any effective defense. Clint showed Phil the most important thing he needed to know, which was how to make a perfect fist, and demonstrated aiming to hit with the knuckles of the index and middle fingers because they were bigger, stronger, and would cause the most damage on impact.

Clint had Phil throw a few punches, instructing him how to rotate his hips to maximize the power behind his punches. Clint brought out the punching dummy and had Phil practice hitting something besides air. Clint noted that Phil was a very quick learner. They moved on to groin kicks, which made both of them wince, but it was a fact that most attackers would be male and a groin kick was _very_ effective when done correctly.

Clint showed Phil how to stand with his dominant leg (the one he’d use to kick with) behind him. He then went through the motion of a kick, explaining each move as he made it: engaging the hip flexor muscles and quads, kicking straight out and up, leaning back at the waist to help with balance and, instead of the foot or knee, connecting with the shin because it would deliver the maximum impact, with the bonus of having a larger surface area, making it harder to miss.

After a few practice kicks they took a break. Clint got them water bottles from the mini-fridge in his office. “Not a word,” Clint said as he passed Darcy and Jane, who was leaning against the front desk as she conversed with Darcy.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Darcy protested.

“Just remember that there’s a window,” Jane said.

Clint flipped them both the bird behind his back. Back in the training room he handed one of the bottles to Phil and immediately choked on his own sip of water when his gaze locked on Phil’s throat as he swallowed. “I’m fine,” Clint insisted as Phil patted his back, inadvertently making the choking worse. Darcy was probably having a _field day_ out there.

They returned to the mat and Clint showed Phil how to hold his arms to block a strike, whether it was from a slap, a punch or a baton, and simultaneously punch one of the soft spots in the face. When Phil had the moves down, Clint took the position of the attacker. He slowly swung his arm at Phil, aiming for his head. Phil blocked the swing and aimed his own perfectly formed fist at Clint’s face, changing the trajectory each time from throat to nose to eyes to get a feel for the motion.

By the time Clint called a stop to that lesson they were both breathing hard. Clint was dreading the next lesson, which was escaping a bear hug. Clint was a professional, so it pissed him off a little bit that he wondered what it would feel like to be pressed against Phil’s back.

Clint held his own arms close to his sides as if he was being held from behind and showed Phil how to disengage. He dropped down, as if he was doing a squat, explaining as he did so that it lowered your center of gravity, making it harder to be picked up or moved. With his feet wider than hip-width, Clint shifted his hips to the side, creating an opening to bring his hand to the attacker’s groin.

Clint threw a few strikes with his open palm, then lunged forward (when his invisible attacker’s grip released) and threw an elbow into his belly as Clint rose and turned to face him. Clint told Phil that he should run if he could, or, in the alternative, continue the assault with punches to soft spots.

Clint had Phil practice the motions a few times on an invisible attacker, then stood behind Phil, holding him in a loose bear hug so he could try the moves on a real live person. Clint didn’t have a cup on, so he was very happy that Phil was able to pull his strikes. Though the thought of Phil accidentally hitting him in the groin did keep Clint’s body from doing anything inappropriate while he stood so close to Phil.

For the last lesson Clint demonstrated how to escape from a two-handed choke from behind, as well as a choke hold from the front. He demonstrated the moves, then had Phil practice them, first against an invisible attacker, then against Clint.

Clint’s entire body gave a sigh of relief when he stepped back. “That’s enough for today.” Clint grabbed two towels off the shelf and tossed one to Phil, even though Clint appeared to be the only one who’d broken a sweat.

“No throws?” Phil said, holding the towel, but not pressing it to his face.

Clint honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “‘Introduction to Self-Defense’ doesn’t have any throws,” Clint said. “For that you’ll have to come back, maybe sign up for a class.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Phil said.

Clint’s heart felt heavy as he watched Phil put his shoes back on and roll down the sleeves of his dress shirt and fasten the cuffs before slipping his arms into the suit jacket. Which was completely ridiculous. Clint walked Phil to the door and shook his hand.

Clint pointed to his watch as he turned away from the door, thankful he had another class starting in a few minutes, and escaped before Darcy could play twenty questions about Phil.

~*~*~*~

Clint was leading his last class a few days later when he felt an itch at the back of his neck. He glanced out the window to the front desk to see if anything was wrong – it wouldn’t be the first time someone thought they’d be an easy mark and tried to rob them. Clint lost his place when he saw Phil standing in the reception area.

Phil looked exactly the same as he had the first time Clint saw him – the suit, the bland expression, the relaxed stance with his hands behind his back . . . Clint forced his gaze way from Phil and back to the class.

“Good job, everyone!” Clint said when the class came to an end. “You all did great.” Clint wasn’t insulted when one of the ladies asked when Jane would be back. He could fill in for any of the instructors when necessary, but Zumba wasn’t his forte.

Clint took a minute to collect himself – wiping a towel over his face and straightening the room – before going out to face Phil. “You’re back,” Clint said. “Ready to move on to Self-Defense 102?”

“Something like that,” Phil said. “I hope you don’t mind the late notice.”

Clint slid a look Darcy’s way. She knew he didn’t like to take appointments for one-on-one instruction without more notice, especially this late in the day. Darcy didn’t look the slightest bit repentant. She also knew that Clint would be happy to see Phil again, even though he’d refused to discuss him with her. Or maybe _because_ he’d refused to discuss Phil with her.

“No problem,” Clint said. “Just let me close up.” He didn’t want anyone walking in off the street after Darcy left, and he definitely didn’t want Darcy to offer to stay late so she could spy on them. Not that anything worth spying on was going to happen.

Clint did a sweep to make sure that no one was still in the building. There were towels on the floor in the men’s locker room, but he would take care of those later. When he and Darcy had confirmed there was no one in the shower or still using the weights, Clint ushered Darcy to the front door, ignoring her pout, and locked it behind her.

When Clint stepped into the small studio, Phil was already waiting for him, jacket folded over the chair, cuffs rolled up (Clint couldn’t help a glance at Phil’s forearms), standing in his stocking feet on the mat.

Clint slipped out of his own trainers and joined Phil on the mat. “Alright, first we’ll start with a refresher to see what you remember from our last lesson.”

Before Clint could tell Phil to make a fist, that fist came flying at his face. Clint blocked that punch, and the next. He didn’t have time to ask Phil what was going on because the strikes kept coming. Clint was able to block about ninety percent of them, but a few connected to his ribs and collarbone while he was busy protecting his testicles and eyes.

Phil kicked Clint in the back of the knee, then swept his leg into Clint’s ankles and knocked him to the mat. Phil came down with a knee that would’ve slammed into Clint’s kidney and done some real damage if he wasn’t pulling his punch, so to speak.

Clint rolled before Phil’s knee could connect and grabbed Phil while he was off-balance from the aborted drop. Clint kept rolling until Phil was on his back with Clint kneeling over him. For someone pinned to a mat, Phil looked a little too pleased with himself.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Phil said.

“What makes you think I’m the kind of boy to put out on a second date?” Clint drawled.

The tips of Phil’s ears turning pink was the only indication that Clint’s words got to Phil. “Not that kind of proposition, Barton,” Phil said blandly.

“Shame.” Clint rolled to his feet and extended a hand to help Phil up. Instead of rejecting the hand-up to prove his masculinity, Phil accepted Clint’s hand.

When he was on his feet, Phil said, “My name is Agent Phil Coulson, and I work for a secret government organization called the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division . . .”

“That’s a mouthful,” Clint said.

“Agreed,” Phil said. “We usually just call it SHIELD.”

“Wow,” Clint said. “Someone really wanted your acronym to spell ‘shield’.”

“It would appear so.”

Clint let his gaze move over Phil, who stood there in wrinkled shirt and slacks, cuffs rolled up and stocking feet, still somehow managing to appear calm and collected as he told Clint about a secret organization. Clint crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you telling me this? I’m not a spy.”

“We don’t merely hire spies,” Phil said.

“But you do hire spies,” Clint said. A couple things suddenly made a horrible sense. “Let me guess, the new yoga instructor we hired a couple weeks ago isn’t really a yoga instructor.”

The expression on Phil’s face didn’t change even as he said, “Natasha.”

The redhead stepped into the room.

Clint shook his head. “I locked up.”

“Your locks are very simple to pick; a child could do it. You should invest in a better security system,” Natasha Romanoff said.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Clint said sourly.

“Also, I am a certified yoga instructor.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired. I can’t believe you had someone spying on me,” Clint said to Phil.

“Vetting.”

“Excuse me?”

“She was vetting you, not spying on you.” Phil and Natasha shared a look and Natasha stepped out of the room.

“Is there a difference?”

Phil opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. “Perhaps not in practice, but in intent.”

“I feel so much better about that distinction.”

“I’ve been following your career,” Phil said out of the blue.

“Then you know why I ‘retired’,” Clint said, feeling the black hole of despair opening up again.

“I do,” Phil said. “And I think we can help each other out.”

“You’re not talking about sex, right? Because as much as I’d have appreciated this line of conversation fifteen minutes ago, now’s really not the time.”

Clint thought he heard a snort from outside the room and it appeared that Phil was having a hard time retaining his bland mask.

Without answering the question directly, Phil said, “Do you remember the Battle of New York?”

“The aliens,” Clint said. “Yeah, I have a vague recollection of that.”

Phil ignored Clint’s sarcasm. “Many years ago the Director of SHIELD had the idea to assemble a team of heroes with extraordinary abilities to fight the battles that humanity was unable to fight on their own. He called it the Avengers Initiative.”

“The Avengers,” Clint said. “Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, Thor and . . .” The words froze on Clint’s tongue. He slowly turned his head to look at the last spot he’d seen Natasha.

“And Black Widow, yes,” Phil said.

“Still don’t know what that has to do with me,” Clint said, ignoring the way his stomach roiled at the thought that the Black Widow had been teaching a yoga class in his fitness center for the past two weeks.

“The Avengers are a last resort,” Phil said, “needed to fight battles that humans can’t fight on their own. SHIELD stands between usual government agencies, such as the FBI, and the Avengers. We specialize in military, scientific research and application and, yes, espionage with a mandate to protect the world from threats beyond the capabilities of standard national security agencies. SHIELD agents assisted in the Battle of New York and in the clean-up afterwards. I’d like you to work with my team at SHIELD.”

Clint waited, but Phil didn’t say anything else. “You want me to work for SHIELD. On your team.”

“Yes,” Phil said simply.

“Why?”

“Because you’re Hawkeye, the World’s Greatest Marksman.”

“Not anymore,” Clint said bitterly, clenching his hand into a fist so he didn’t reach for the shoulder he’d injured, ending his career.

“What if we could fix your shoulder?”

Clint shook his head. “I consulted with the best doctors in the field.”

“We have access to better . . . medical treatments.” This time Phil continued when Clint didn’t respond immediately. “After the Battle of New York, and thanks to Thor’s intervention, we came to an agreement with Asgard.”

Clint had not consulted with _gods_. He had to force himself not to get too excited about the possibility when he didn’t know if Phil could actually come through on the promise. “How do I know that they can actually do what you say?”

“Because they’ve done it before.” Phil tugged on the knot of his tie, which would’ve made Clint happy under very different circumstances.

There was a sound behind Clint. Phil glanced over Clint’s shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Natasha. We knew Clint would need to see some evidence of our claim.”

For the first time Phil’s bland expression slipped, but it was back up before Clint could register the expression he’d seen behind it. Phil unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to Natasha when he took it off. She’d stepped into the room on silent feet, which meant that she’d only let them hear her earlier because she wanted to.

Phil pulled the undershirt over his head and just stood there. Clint knew he had to be uncomfortable, but Phil didn’t show it. He gave Clint time to get a good look at the scar bisecting his chest, then turned so Clint could see the matching scar on his back.

“Loki stabbed me,” Phil said. He pulled the undershirt back on, then allowed Natasha to hold the button up for him to slip into. “Our doctors, some of the best in the world, kept me alive after the . . . incident, but I wouldn’t have made it without intervention from Asgard.”

By the time Phil was done talking he was fully dressed. For the first time Phil’s suit reminded Clint of a suit of armor. “Asgard’s medical professionals repaired the damage to my heart. I wouldn’t be here now if they hadn’t. I’m certain they can do the same for your shoulder.”

“How certain?” Clint held his breath.

“99.99%.”

Clint led out a shuddering breath as hope blossomed in his chest.

“Plus, if you join SHIELD we’ll create a nice uniform for you. We’ll even include some purple and it’ll be very cool. I might have mentioned some of my ideas to our R&D department.”

“Purple?” Clint said. He had a very bad feeling.

Phil gave Clint a look, bland mask very firmly back in place. “I told you I followed your career.”

“I thought you meant the Olympics!”

“That, too.”

Natasha mouthed, ‘He has posters.’

“Oh my god,” Clint said.

Phil glanced at Natasha and she gave him a bland look in return. Phil snorted. “Just think about it,” he said to Clint. “I’ll be in touch.”

~*~*~*~

Clint did nothing _but_ think about it. He got very little sleep that night. Natasha was waiting when Clint unlocked the door the next morning. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a class this morning.” Natasha brushed past Clint and went to set up as if he hadn’t just fired her the night before. Just as well, really, since Clint hadn’t called anyone to take her class.

Some of their early morning regulars followed Natasha inside, so Clint didn’t have the chance to question her. Clint watched the front desk until Darcy came in, then went back to his apartment above the fitness center to shower and try to wake up. His only response to Darcy’s, “Late night, boss?” was a rude gesture.

Slightly more awake, Clint apologized to Darcy by running to the café next door to bring back her favorite coffee and a cookie. Darcy protested the presence of a cookie inside a fitness center, but slapped Clint’s hand away when he offered to take it off her hands.

Clint wandered the weight lifting and cardio areas, correcting a hold here, answering a question there. He stood outside Jane’s Zumba class and felt . . . old and tired. When did he start feeling old and tired?

Clint’s phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. Because he sometimes got calls for Hawkeye Fitness on his personal cell, Clint answered it. A vaguely familiar voice said, “Can we talk?”

Clint took a deep breath. “Natasha. What do you want to talk about?”

“Agent Coulson’s offer.”

A little shiver went through Clint at Natasha’s identification of Phil as ‘Agent Coulson’.

“I thought a different perspective might help you make your decision.”

“You don’t think holding the possibility of a shoulder repair over my head is enough to do the trick?” Clint said bitterly. The silence grew until Clint sighed and said, “Yeah, okay, fine. Where?”

Natasha directed Clint to the same café where he’d gotten Darcy’s apology coffee. When Clint arrived, Natasha was already sat at a table in the back corner, her back to the wall, two cups on the table in front of her. The way Natasha casually glanced around the café made Clint wonder if his friendly neighborhood café was a front for the Russian mob or some other nasty business.

Natasha raised an eyebrow when Clint moved his chair around the table before sitting.

“The way you’re casing the join makes me want to sit with my back to the wall, too.”

Natasha smirked and used two fingers to push one of the cups towards Clint. He hesitated before taking a sip, which only made Natasha’s smirk widen. Clint took a sip and let out a blissed out moan. Natasha had gotten him the drink he saved for special occasions or when he needed a pick-me-up.

“How did you know my super secret order?”

“I’m a spy,” Natasha said.

The reminder almost soured Clint on his extra special drink. Thankfully it didn’t or that would be something else he’d hold against Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD. Actually, Clint could think of something else he’d _like_ to hold against Phil.

“Are you paying attention?” Natasha said.

“What?”

“Your eyes just glazed over.”

Heat rushed to Clint’s cheeks. “If you wanted me to pay attention, you shouldn’t have gotten me my extra special coffee. What were you saying?”

“I wanted to tell you my experience with SHIELD,” Natasha said, obviously repeating herself. “Just to give you the perspective of a previous outsider.”

“Yeah, okay.” Clint glanced around the café. “Should we be talking about this here?”

Natasha gestured towards the pen she’d been fiddling with when Clint walked in. “No one can hear us.”

“Because of a pen.”

Natasha gave Clint a look.

“It’s . . . not just a pen.”

“We can speak freely.” Natasha took a breath and pulled her shoulders back. Clearly talking about this was not pleasant for her.

By the time Natasha finished her story, Clint’s mouth hung open and his coffee had gone cold. “Why did you tell me all this?”

“Because I trust you,” Natasha said. “I’m a good judge of character,” she added before Clint could remind her that she’d only known him, and only distantly at that, for a couple of weeks. “And because I know what it feels like to be given a second chance by Phil Coulson.”

Natasha asked Clint if he had any questions before she left. He said no, but the truth was he had too many questions jumbled around in his head to settle on just one or two. Clint drank the coffee – even cold it wasn’t bad – and thought about what Natasha had told him.

Before he left the café, Clint pulled out his phone and pulled up his recent calls. He called the number Natasha had used, half-expecting it to be disconnected. To Clint’s surprise, Natasha answered. After a few seconds to get over the shock, Clint said, “How do I get a hold of Phil?”

“His number’s on his membership form,” Natasha said.

“He joined with his real name and phone number?” Clint said, but he was talking to dead air.

~*~

Clint didn’t call Phil immediately. He let his thoughts settled and jotted down questions as they came to him. He waited until after his kick-boxing class the next day to open the contact he’d added to his phone.

“Hello, Clint,” Phil said, his voice, even over the phone, sending a shiver down Clint’s spine.

“Phil,” Clint said, hoping Phil couldn’t hear his reaction in his voice.

“What can I do for you?” Phil said.

Clint’s mind galloped off in an inappropriate direction and he dragged it back. “I have some questions. About your offer.”

“And I’d love to answer them,” Phil said, “but I’m on my way to an accounting conference.”

“Uh huh,” Clint said, his stomach turning inside out at the thought of Phil heading into danger. “Is my yoga instructor with you?”

“I thought I might need a session or two after sitting through some boring seminars.”

“Be careful,” Clint said. “I’ve heard that these conferences can be vicious. You know, with all the back-biting and . . . pencils.”

Clint could hear the smile in Phil’s voice when he said he’d be wary of the pencils and he’d call Clint when he returned to New York City. Clint walked out of the office, where he’d hidden himself to make the phone call, and surveyed the large open main room of the fitness center.

“What’s wrong?” Darcy said.

Clint thought about it for about two seconds before saying, “Phil’s out of town.”

“He’ll be back, though, right?”

“Yeah. In a couple days, I guess.”

“I knew he was your type,” Darcy said smugly.

“Shut up,” Clint said. He hooked his arm around Darcy’s neck and threatened to give her a noogie, but allowed her to fight him off. He didn’t have to give too much.

“You’re getting stronger,” Clint said approvingly.

“Heck yeah, I am!” Darcy flexed her arms. “Jane’s been helping me with the weights and giving me extra Zumba lessons.”

“Actual Zumba lessons, or is that a euphemism for something else?”

Clint laughed as he walked away, rubbing his arm where Darcy had punched him. She packed quite a wallop.

~*~*~*~

Three days later Clint was running an eye over the place while waiting for his one-on-one to show. The hairs on the back of his neck rose when the door opened. Clint slowly turned around to see Phil checking in at the front desk. The moment Phil wasn’t looking at her, Darcy grinned at Clint and mouthed, ‘Surprise!’

Clint made sure his mouth was shut and that he hadn’t drooled at the sight of Phil. He was mostly recovered when Phil smiled at Darcy, then turned to face Clint.

“Sorry I couldn’t get back for my next lesson before now,” Phil said.

“That’s fine,” Clint said, the words coming out a little breathlessly. “Locker room?” he said when he noted the duffle in Phil’s hand.

“Yes. Would you mind showing me the way? I didn’t use it on my other visits.”

Clint snorted. “Sure.” He was pretty sure that Natasha had drawn up a layout of the fitness center that was accurate down to the centimeter while ‘vetting’ Clint, and probably his apartment as well, given her feat with a lock pick.

Clint led Phil to the men’s locker room and pointed out the location of the lockers, showers and toilets. “We could just do this in my office, you know.”

“And miss out on the opportunity to throw you around?”

“We’ll see who throws who around,” Clint said before he left Phil to get changed.

Clint paced as he waited for Phil to appear in the training room. He refolded and restacked the towels. He moved the chairs, then moved them back. He checked the corners of the ceiling to make sure the cleaning crew hadn’t been skipping the hard-to-reach areas.

“So,” Clint said when Phil finally showed up. (It had been less than five minutes, but it felt like a lot longer.) “How was your conference. No stray pencils?”

“The conference was very successful,” Phil said as he placed a familiar looking pen on one of the chairs.

“I’m happy to hear it.”

Phil took his position on the mat, which gave Clint a moment to check Phil out in his workout clothes. The jogging pants were loose in the leg, but hugged Phil’s ass just right. The t-shirt wasn’t tight, but gave a good sense of the muscles beneath it. By the time Clint’s eyes reached Phil’s face, Phil was staring at him with a pink tinge to his cheeks. It was a good look for him.

“You have some questions, I believe,” Phil said primly.

Smiling, Clint took his place on the mat. “I do.”

Clint threw a punch that Phil blocked easily. “Do you expect me to be a spy?”

“No.”

Clint kept the strikes coming – a left, a right, another left – while Phil was distracted defending against them Clint raised his right leg to hook his foot around the back of Phil’s knee. “Am I going to have to kill anyone?”

Phil’s, “No,” wasn’t as quick as the previous one. He also hadn’t been as distracted as Clint thought. Phil swept Clint’s leg out from under him when the other was raised and he was off-balance. Clint rolled to his feet and came back swinging, aiming blows with both hands and feet.

“Why the hesitation?”

Phil used his own arms and legs to block them. Clint was pleased when one got through.

“It’s not relevant to this discussion,” Phil said.

“It’s relevant to whether I trust you enough to continue this conversation,” Clint said.

“Fine.” Phil went on the offensive. “Before your injury I had considered you for the Avengers Initiative.”

Clint froze. “What?” Then, “Ow!” when Phil’s punch landed.

“What the hell, Barton?” Phil said as he reached for Clint to look closely at his face. “Why’d you lower your guard?”

“Why . . . ? Are you kidding me right now?” Clint slapped at Phil’s hands, but didn’t pull his face away when Phil held it. “You just said you were considering me to be an Avenger!”

“You’re going to have a bruise,” Phil said as he stepped back.

Clint wanted to pull Phil’s hands back to his face. Instead he said, “I’d have had to kill people as an Avenger?”

“Bad people,” Phil said. “The occasional alien, and a surprising number of robots.”

Clint didn’t want to think about that. “What do you want me for? SHIELD, I mean.”

“Cover.”

Clint frowned. “Cover?”

“Your shoulder is healed, you go on a worldwide comeback tour, we tag along and piggyback our operations onto your appearances.”

“And by operations you mean spying.”

“Yes. Among other things.”

“Other things,” Clint repeated slowly, his mind whirring. “Like . . . assassinations?”

“Maybe, but only if it’s really, really necessary,” Phil said. “Or extractions of SHIELD personnel, helping people defect . . .”

“Jesus,” Clint said. “So this could be dangerous.”

“Not for you,” Phil said. “No one will suspect you, and you’ll have bodyguards.”

“But for you.”

Phil shrugged. “No more than usual.”

Clint covered his mouth. “That’s not helping.”

“I know this is a lot to take in.”

“It is.” Clint hadn’t known what to expect, but this . . . this wasn’t it. “I might need some more time to think about it. But first I need all the details. Will you be part of this team?”

“Of course,” Phil said. “It’s my op; I’ll be team leader.”

“And your cover?”

“Your new manager.”

“Basically a glorified accountant,” Clint said.

Phil’s lips twitched. “Something like that.”

“And Natasha?”

“Her position will be fluid. Sometimes a bodyguard, sometimes part of your act.”

“My _act_?”

“Flaming arrows shot from horseback, that sort of thing.”

“Oh god,” Clint said. “You really did see me when I was in the circus.”

“I did,” Phil said. “How do you feel about adding some rhinestones to your purple costume?”

“You really want this to be some kind of circus act?”

“As much as possible. A circus without the actual circus. We need everyone’s eyes on you so no one’s paying attention to what’s going on with us behind the scenes.”

“What about . . .” Clint took a breath. “What about the Olympics?”

“If you want to requalify for the Olympics that would be fine with us,” Phil said. “The 2016 Olympics will be held in Rio. We could definitely work with that.”

“What if . . . How long . . .?”

“You won’t be required to give us a lifetime commitment,” Phil said. “One year, probably between twelve and twenty-four missions. If you want to sign on for more after that, you’d be most welcome. If you’ve had enough, you’ll be free to return to your life.”

A life without Phil, which Clint was already having a hard time thinking about. “Just like that?”

“Oh no,” Phil said. “You’ll be signing paperwork until your fingers bleed, after our success rate Director Fury will try to convince you to stay, and there will be exit interviews that’ll make you *want* to shoot someone with an arrow.”

“Sounds fun,” Clint said dryly. “One more question. What’s SHIELD’s policy on fraternization?”

Phil looked like he’d swallowed a bug. “SHIELD policy allows relationships of a romantic or sexual nature between agents so long as there’s no direct oversight between either, or any, of them.”

“In this situation.” Clint gestured between them. “As team leader, would you be my direct supervisor?”

“I’m sure we could set you up as an independent consultant outside of SHIELD’s purview.”

“Excellent,” Clint said, his heart racing in his chest. “If you don’t already have plans for this evening, would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

“I’d love to,” Phil said. “I just need to make a phone call to get the ball rolling with Asgard. They might be able to do the procedure as early as tomorrow.”

“That soon?” Clint said. “Don’t they need to examine my shoulder first?”

“Well, yes, of course . . . They may have already seen your scans.”

“May have?”

“Definitely have.”

“How did they get them?” Clint hadn’t signed any release forms lately.

Phil gave Clint a bland look. “We have our ways.”

“Phil,” Clint said, “did you steal my scans?”

“Borrowed,” Phil said. “We’ll return them before you go public with your miraculous recovery and they won’t have any idea they were missing.”

“Sneaky.” Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about all the steps Phil had taken behind his back, but the thought of being able to shoot his bow again nearly made Clint shake as his body tried to decide whether it wanted to cry or shout for joy.

Phil picked up the ‘pen’ and Clint walked him to the locker room. “We probably shouldn’t stay out late tonight,” Phil said, a faint flush crawling up his neck. “You’ll need to get a good night’s rest for tomorrow.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d put out on the first date, Phil,” Clint said.

Phil managed to give Clint a bland look despite the flush. “I thought this was our third date?”

Clint laughed. “You got me there.”

Phil used a fingerprint reader and a combination to open the lock he’d placed on his locker. Phil pulled out the suit he’d hung on a hanger, then turned to look at Clint.

Clint stared back until he realized that Phil needed to get dressed. “Oh, god, yeah, sorry.”

“It’s not that I mind,” Phil said. “It’s just that I’d like there to be some mystery when we . . .”

“I said okay, I’m leaving!” Clint said as he escaped the locker room. It had to be his imagination that he heard the sound of Phil laughing behind the closed door.

Clint considered taking the cowards way of going upstairs and calling Darcy from there to ask if she and Jane could close up. Instead he headed for the front desk. God, she was going to be so _smug_ about this.

Clint found himself grinning. He didn’t know if it was because of the promise of being able to shoot again, or the thought of having dinner with Phil. It was probably a little of both, to be honest.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Things that I head canon happening, but didn’t make it into the fic:
> 
> a. Clint turns over the day-to-day running of Hawkeye Fitness to Darcy and Jane.  
> b. Natasha continues to teach yoga at the fitness center because she likes the cover story, and she starts a self-defense class for women.  
> c. Darcy and Jane move into the apartment above the fitness center when Clint moves in with Phil.  
> d. Kate Bishop wants to go on some of the tour stops with Clint.
> 
> 2\. Things that I head canon happening and might one day write as a follow up:
> 
> a. Clint meets the Avengers. He asks Phil if he’s trying to get him to join. The answer is yes.  
> b. Clint ends up having to protect either Phil or Natasha at some point.  
> c. Clint joins the Avengers. (You had to know it was coming. *g*)  
> d. Someone attacks Clint (Avengers-related or Olympics-related) and Clint loses (partial) hearing.
> 
> 3\. Everything I know about self-defense I took from this website: [4 Krav Maga Self-Defense Moves Anyone Can Master](https://greatist.com/move/krav-maga-self-defense-moves)


End file.
